Page 108 of Judge's Mercy

“Is there bleach in here?” I ask Riot, whose lip is curled at the grotesque scene I’m creating.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Cupboard.”

I grab the bottle of bleach and twist off the cap. Blood from David’s wounds is getting everywhere, but that’s the least of my concerns. With a smirk, I lift the bottle to his chest and pour its contents down his front. The burning sensation is too much for him to bear, and he loses his balance. Hanging from his wrists, he kicks out in desperation, searching for a reliable surface to find footing on. But in his struggles, he dislodges the top brick, leaving him with no hope of escape.

His cries are pitiful as he pleads with God to end his suffering, but if there truly is a higher power, they would be foolish to waste a miracle on someone like him. As I watch him suffer, I can’t help but wonder if I’m bound for hell for all I’ve done. It’s a perplexing thought because, yes, I have taken lives, but I am not as evil as this man before me. So where does that leave me?

It’s a question for a later time. I step onto the remaining bricks and hold my knife out. “Give him a push, would you?”

“Why? What are you—? Fuck, girl. You might be more messed up in the head than I am.” He huffs but walks over and gives David a little shove.

David hurtles toward me, impaling himself on my knife with a sickening thud. My hands are numb as the blade sinks deeper and deeper into his body with every violent thrust. Riot’s relentless pushing only adds to the brutality, causing David’s cries to become strangled gasps before finally falling silent. Blood gushes from his mouth, mixing with tears as he spits and sputters, choking. His head lolls forward, and I watch as he dies right before my eyes.

“Feel better?” Riot asks.

“A little, but not enough to forget the rest of my list.”

“Next time, can we just shoot the prick and move on?”

The answer’s easy, because I’ve already made that promise to myself. “Sure.”

I peel off my gloves and toss them carelessly on the counter. Blood spatters cover my clothes, and I curse at the mess I’ve made. Will I have to clean this up? Memories of helping dispose of a body as a prospect surface. We paid a guy named Levi five thousand dollars to use his crematorium for the task. After we lifted the body onto a stainless steel table, Levi commented that he liked how small my hands were. It was unsettling to say the least.

“The prospects will take care of it,” Riot says, reading my mind.

I pump my fist in the air. “Yes!”

“And there’s a change of clothes on the bottom shelf of the cabinet over there.”

“Whose clothes?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know. Judge handed me a bag and said to give it to you because you’d need it.”

I swoon at the romantic gesture. “Oh, okay.”

The backpack has baby wipes, a small bar of the soap that will kill all traces of David’s DNA, clothes, and a plastic bag for the dirties. He thought of everything. I kick my boots off—I’ll have to disinfect those when I get home—and yank off my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra because my long-sleeve thermal was tight enough that my boobs wouldn’t flop around.

“Jesus Christ,” Riot curses, whirling around so his back is facing me.

“What?”

“I just saw your tits.”

“Rude! I’ll have you know that I’ve had more than a couple men nut just seeing my breasts.”

“I wasn’t saying—fuck. You have a nice rack, okay? But Judge’ll kill me if he knows I saw it.”

I laugh. “Do you know how many men have seen me completely naked? Judge would have his own list if he wanted to murder every man who’s seen me, and it would be a lot longer than mine.”

“That’s different.”

“Okay, you can turn around.”

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, taking one last look at my latest victim. “Rest in hell, asshole.”

The ride home is a blur as all my thoughts are taken over by Judge—how much he helped prepare for this and what he sacrificed. His need for reparations was misguided, but it’s the intent that makes my heart flutter. There’s never been a better man than him, and there never will be again.

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